Strength
by AnadoraBlack
Summary: [Prequel to Ghost of the Past] [Can be read as an original piece] Juliette Durieux had promised to tell the tale of how she had become a skilled swordswoman. And it is not an easy tale, for not decision this important is ever easy. But between coping with her husband's death and making dear friends, she did become stronger...
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hello everyone! Surprise update today! I know I have not written anything in a long time, but I had promised this one update, even if it was almost one year ago... So, if you are curious, this two-shot is a prequel to my Musketeers fic Ghost of the Past. If you have not read that one first, you will follow this as a original story; and for those of you who did read GotP, then enjoy! I did promise, after all!_

* * *

 ** _Disclaimer : I do not own the musketeers present in the second chapter. I however own the plot, OCs and places used in the rest of this fic._**

* * *

 **WARNING: Mention of abuse at the end of this chapter.**

* * *

 _ **Strength**_

* * *

 _1631\. 1st March_

* * *

Pain. Pain. Pain.

Cries. Tears. Screams.

Darkness. Emptiness. Hollowness.

One slender body lay on the floor of one usually neat kitchen, its furniture thrown in disarray around the room. The hair was a deep shade of auburn, almost bordering on red. The eyes, usually fair and glistening with happiness, were red and puffy with tears. The dress, one of the woman's favourite, was torn where she had clawed at it. In her hands was clutched a crumpled letter she had read over and over again the past days.

' _Madame,_

 _It is with deep regret that I have to announce the body of your husband, Antoine Durieux, residing in Bayeux, was found yesternight in the Seine. He had unfortunately been robbed of all personal belongings._

 _It is also with deep regret that I have to announce the death of the young man travelling with him, Monsieur Léon._

 _Please do receive my sincerest condolances. I remain at your service should you ever need it. Antoine was a good provider and an even better friend._

 _Cordially,_

 _Monsieur Jean Demarais, tisserand at the Rue des Moulins, Paris_ '

The letter had been laced with a black ribbon, which had since then been lost somewhere in the house.

Juliette, Antoine's young wife, had not stopped crying since first reading Monsieur Jean's words.

Antoine had often left home on errands for his work as a silk merchant, but he had promised her days on end that he would be careful, prudent... And yet, here he was, dead. In Paris. Alongside his apprentice, fifteen-year-old Léon. She had not spared the boy's mother a thought yet, but she would have no doubt later on that she, too, was unconsolable.

Juliette and Antoine, you see, had married for love. It was rare and precious in those times, but it meant that every separation was even more painful than for "ordinary folk". Combined to the fact that they had never had any children, it was an utter tragedy.

* * *

There was a series of soft knocks on the kitchen door, and Juliette shrank back where she lay against the upturned table.

"Juliette, please, darling, come out..." came the hushed voice of René, Antoine's elderly father, her beloved father-in-law. He had tried to pry his daughter's fingers off the letter for hours before she locked herself inside her house, throwing tantrum over tantrum whenever he tried to see her.

The problem was, René and his son looked far too similar. Same pure blue eyes, same hair cut neatly except for the bangs on their foreheads. The only difference was the shade of René's hair, slightly greyer than Antoine's. And each time she stared at him, Juliette was reminded for Antoine and it hurt too much...

"Please, René, not now..."

"My love, it has been four days. People are starting to wonder where you are. An honorary funeral is to be held tomorrow. You have to attend." René's voice was stronger than usual. She could hear the shake in it, betrayal his own hurt, but he was determined.

Juliette let out another pained sob and crumpled the letter even more. Funeral. What was there to bury anyway? The body found in Paris had been thrown in a communal grave because of its state, this casket would be empty, and what would it mean? Nothing.

"Juliette... Please. Show them one last time how much you loved my son..."

* * *

Oh, she had loved him. So much she thought she would die of love...

She remembered Antoine's words the first time he left her side after their marriage. He had squeezed a paper in her hand, his blue eyes dark with seriousness, and he had called it 'my last will'. And when they had read it together, Juliette discovered she was her husband's only heir, should they not have children.

Which meant yes, for better or for worse, Bayeux' finest silk needed a merchant.

And that it should be her. Antoine's beloved wife.

So Juliette stumbled to her feet, and went to unlock the latch on the door. René's weary face appeared in the dark room, and he encompassed her in his strong arms, and she let herself be hugged and comforted...

* * *

 _1631\. 2nd March_

* * *

It was a lovely day outside, a soft sun warming up the attendance as they stood in the small graveyard. It was terribly offensive that the spring had decided to start its work on a day like this. Juliette secretly hated the sun for making an appearance as she said goodbye to her beloved husband.

She had for the "occasion" put on a magnificent silken dress laced with black patterns. It had been Antoine's gift to her on her own mother's death when they were by then engaged for two months. She had not worn it since.

Only a small group of people had gathered around the priest and the hole in the ground on that day. René, of course, but also Antoinette, Juliette's aunt and sole parent still alive, and a small gathering of other merchants, including Monsieur Jean, who had hurried up from Paris and who had arrived a few hours earlier, sweating and his horse exhausted.

The ceremony was short and sweet. The priest sang Antoine's qualities and vertues, as was usual in such moments; and René made a wonderful eulogy. Then, the empty casket was lowered into the ground, revealing a lovely carved stone on which was engraved 'Antoine Durieux, beloved son and husband'.

Juliette kept her composure throughout the whole ceremony, but as soon as she saw the stone, she fell to her knees, sobs erupting from her lips under the veil that was covering her fiery hair.

She tried to control it, to remain dignified, but it was to no avail. Her love, the love of her life, had left her side, had been taken from her, and there was nothing she could do.

When René helped her up, then started the mandatory condolances from those in attendance. Most she did not know by name, only by face, and she knew that their words of 'we'll miss him dearly' and of 'he was such a lovely man' were only half-felt.

When Monsieur Jean walked up to them, only he seemed to feel the same pain, if only part of it, that they felt. He gently kissed Juliette's knuckles, and asked in a whisper, "So, are you going to take over, Madame?"

Juliette felt her eyes prickle with tears once again, but she knew the old man was only conveying his trust in her abilities. She nodded stiffly. "I will try my best." Her voice was shaky, but strong.

The Parisian smiled sadly. "I know you will." He then looked up at René with the same smile. "It might be of both your interests if Madame Durieux did not live alone anymore. Some will want her head if she thrives to be as popular as our late Antoine."

René nodded gravely, his hand going to his daughter-in-law's shoulder. "I will find her an apprentice." Monsieur Jean seemed satisfied, and left the scene.

So there it was, standing in front of the freshly closed grave of her husband, that Juliette Durieux vouched that she would make him proud and take back what he had valiantly fought for all his life.

And that she would become the most well-known silk merchant in the whole of France.

* * *

 _1631\. 16th June_

* * *

"Mistress Durieux, come now, quick!"

Juliette looked up from her thorough analyse of the cloth she had purchased that morning at a good price. So far there was no fault to be found. She'd have to trade with that Chinese merchant more often...

The young boy who had been aiding her in carrying the bundles of cloth from the docks to her shop was almost jumping up and down, poiting at a man standing in front of the door, shifting from foot to foot.

Juliette wiped her dusty hands on her apron and took the stance of someone of importance that she was not, and she assessed the young man.

He could not have been much younger than herself, maybe eighteen or nineteen years of age. Tall, broad of shoulders, he looked intimidating enough for the sword that hung at his side to be considered a threat. He had longish brown hair that curled just under his ears, stubble that covered his cheeks and chin rather elegantly, and bright hazel eyes which seemed to smile even if his lips did not.

"Can I help you?" she asked matter-of-factly. She had met enough new people in town to know that this one was not interested in purchasing silk. Or her, for that matter. Some had tried.

"Madame Durieux?" the man asked. His voice was raspy, as if he had been choked during infancy, but it added to the intimidating stature.

She nodded once. "It is I. And you are...?"

"Damien Francier, Madame," he answered with a bow of the head. "I heard of your needs for an apprentice, and I came to pay my respects."

"You heard?" she said with a arched brow. "And who told you, pray tell?" She was being playful, then, somehow, knowing before-hand who had sent the youngster to her door.

"A Monsieur René Durieux, Madame. He is a very good friend of my uncle, Salomon Stern."

Juliette did not make any comment about the fact that such a name surely belonged to a Jew, or that her father-in-law's dealing with the jewellers was of little interest to her, because the young man's stature and demeanour was rather pleasing. "Do you know what would be asked of you as my apprentice?"

"I must admit I do not know, Madame. I have very little dealings with the cloth merchants myself, and other than carrying your purchases from the docks through here, I don't have a clue." He ended his speech with a chuckle that made him look far less intimidating, and Juliette found herself truly smiling at the man, perhaps for the first time in ages.

"Well, you'd learn the trade, of course, to take over once I retire. That means taking accounts, trading with other merchants, finding good deals, finding customers, selling the goods and sometimes..." her voice faltered, "transport them to their destination."

Damien smiled broader. "Then I think I am the right person, Madame. I have accounted in the past before, for my father's trade - he used to sell his best cows, you see - and carrying heavy things is not a problem either."

"Then I may consider you, Monsieur Francier," Juliette said before she turned to go back inside. "Be back tomorrow at five o'clock sharp in the morning. We'll start from there."

* * *

 _1632\. 25th August_

* * *

Juliette was counting again and again, feeling more and more tired as time went by. The fire beside her armchair had long since turned into ashes, and as the sun lazily rose, she realised she had stayed up all night. Once again.

She was plagued with nightmares and had been ever since Antoine's death, more than a year prior. She still wore her black dress, refused to let go of her mourning, and it was even worse since Damien had moved in with her.

Damien had become a very good friend in less time than it usually took people to get introduced. She could honestly say she thought of him as a little brother.

He was clever, devilishly so, and imposed such presence that, in his company, she never felt threatened again. On the few occasions when René came visiting, she could not stop thanking him for sending her apprentice along. And to therefore have made her trade a thriving one once again.

The name of Durieux continued to appeal to silk-lovers all over the North, and slowly, it went back as far as the capital, then some merchants came up from Lyon to purchase the small luxury themselves. She would have made Antoine proud, she was sure of it.

And yet, living with another man, even if no one questioned her loyalty to her husband thanks to her black attire, made her feel guilty for reasons she had yet to contemplate fully.

* * *

A sigh shook her off her rêverie. "You spent the whole night here, again?" Damien's raspy voice said with a little tut in the tone.

She sighed too, feeling suddenly very much exhausted. "I could not sleep."

"Well now I bet you can. Come on," he added as he gently scooped her off the armchair and into his arms. He did that, from time to time, and did not stop chastising her all the way to her bedchamber in the small house.

This time was slightly different though.

"Madame Vannier has sent over an invitation, by the way. She is throwing a small party at the hall this evening. For her son's ten's birthday."

Juliette hummed, half-asleep already. "I don't want to go."

"And yet you will," he said while gently kicking the door open. "It is time you start enjoying life again, little sister." The endearment sent a growl of disapproval to her lips. She was not little!

Damien set her down on the bed and tucked her in, just like a caring brother would, and Juliette felt so safe it overwhelmed her for a second.

"We'll talk about it later. For now, sleep. I'll open the shop." He kissed her forehead, and left.

* * *

When Juliette woke up, it was far later than midday already. She could hear the commotion of the trade below, meaning that Damien was once again doing a fairly good job at selling their goods.

Juliette was no idiot: she knew by then that the young man's appearance, and even more his deep raspy voice, appealed to the young ladies of Bayeux, and not only the young. She dared say that she had thought about using it from the moment they met. And she had been right to.

When she finally asked him after a few weeks of work alongside each other what had rendered his voice thus, Damien had explained that when he was a boy, a horseling he had been trying to tame trampled him and stepped on his neck. He should by all means have died of the incident, but thankfully he had survived, albeit with damaged vocal chords and an interdiction to ever sing. Otherwise he'd lose the voice forever.

Juliette had never heard him try, though, and in her state of mourning she herself had never thought about singing, although she had a horrible voice and could not be bothered to entertain anyone with it.

Damien had indeed sold a lot that day, which made Juliette very happy; happy enough, actually, to consider going to Madame Vannier's party at the city hall.

* * *

The sun was still far from setting when she arrived at the small community hall, a ballroom that was big enough to accommodate two hundred people and no more. Some space was already taken by an orchestra when Juliette arrived, and a good portion was taken by couples dancing, or children playing.

Madame Vannier lived not far from Juliette and Damien. She knew them as neighbours would know people who they waved to in the street: not enough. But she was decent-looking, and one of the few women in Bayeux who Juliette had not found talking behind her back. It was refreshing.

"Madame Durieux! What a wonderful surprise! I thought you'd never come!"

Juliette smiled. She was still wearing her mourning dress, but she felt more at peace with public gatherings than she had done a few months prior. "I thank you for the invitation. I needed some time out of the shop."

"You are working far too much, Madame," Madame Vannier chastised her. "But come, I'd like you to meet my brother. I told you about him!"

Juliette kept herself from rolling her eyes. Oh yes, she had heard about Eric Delors. Too much, she thought. The man seemed to be an angel, some kind of saint come to Earth for his sole sister's amusement.

She had to admit though, upon seeing the man, that he was indeed very attractive. Blonde hair that was the colour of daisies, blue eyes that matched hers, he was undeniably a beautiful man. And in a way so totally different from Antoine's that it didn't even hurt to look at him.

"Eric, this is Madame Juliette Durieux. She owns Bayeux' most famous silk contengeant. Madame, this is my brother, Monsieur Eric Delors."

He bowed to kiss Juliette's knuckles, which was a gentlemanly thing to do, but something in the man's demeanour translated some kind of...foreign ways? She did not know how to put it.

Of course, Madame Vannier left the scene to supposedly go and greet new guests. But her brother was not stupid, and he apologized to Juliette in no time at all.

"I am sorry for my sister's behaviour, Madame. She has been trying to marry me off since I came back to France. Some sort of obsession, I believe. Do not feel offended, I beg you."

Juliette smiled. She liked his talk. He was very eloquent in a manner... "There is nothing to apologize for, Monsieur. Your sister has been trying to marry _me_ off since the day we met." She paused, smiling some more. "You said you just came back to France? May I ask where you were before?"

Monsieur Delors smiled back, snatching two cups of cheap wine before handing one to Juliette. "Oh, travelling is my only vice. A few years back, I went as far as Egypt. It's a marvelous country, filled with History, but far too hot for me," he chuckled, mirrored by his for-now companion, "but I've just come back from a three-year life in Italy. Florence is a place of wonder."

"Did you study art there?" Juliette asked, for she was attached to literature herself and had to admit she had little opportunity to talk about serious topics like these anymore.

"Not officially, but I did follow a sculptor around for some time," he kept smiling. "I dally in painting myself, to a much smaller level."

"I wished I could say the same, but my skill is even smaller than that!" Juliette laughed slowly, realising she hadn't had many opportunities to do so in the past few months. "You are lucky to be able to travel thus, Monsieur."

"You should not feel impeded because you are a woman, Madame. I hear that you have an apprentice ready to take over. Maybe time to travel will come?"

She smiled sadly. "I doubt it but I appreciate your saying so."

Eric kept smiling to her, something she had grown unaccustomed to ever since her husband's passing. Being under a man's scrutiny had always been something she had not been comfortable with, if not in the intimacy of a darkly-lit bedroom.

And yet, something about the traveller exhilirated her in a way she did not understand. He was charming, yes, but not overly so. He looked properly like a man who was politely making acquaintances but who was not interested. It puzzled her.

"May I offer you to dance, Madame Durieux?" he asked after a while.

She shook her head and sipped on her beverage. "I thank you for the offer, but I'm not prone to give your sister and her friends any more reasons to gossip." She chuckled, and he mirrored her again, his laugh something very endearing.

"I can only agree."

And so Juliette Durieux met Eric Delors, for their first but not last encounter...

* * *

 _1633\. 1st January_

* * *

Juliette was making her way through the snowy streets of Bayeux. She adjusted her coat and woolen scarf to protect herself some more from the freezing wind, and continued her march towards church.

She had begun despising winter ever since Antoine's death. It had been his favourite season, and she still acutely remembered the look on his face every time he walked into the snow. The look of a child who wished for nothing more than to just roll into the white mantel. It had made her laugh so much when they had been blissfully married...

But ever since his passing, Juliette hated the snow, hated winter, hated Christmas time. But this time was to be slightly different.

Juliette and Eric Delors had soon after Madame Vannier's party begun a friendship that so far had been nawt but agreeable. Sometimes she found herself wondering if he was courting her; sometimes she just enjoyed his company.

It was difficult, having a platonic relationship with a man. Everyone who saw them both arm in arm in the streets thought they were seeing each other officially, and Madame Vannier herself kept referring to Juliette as 'my future sister'. Which was also the source of her discomfort when she was alone with Eric late at night, swallowed in one of their many discussions about art and the world.

Was Eric developping feelings for her? Was she developping some for him? Would he ask her to marry him soon? What would she answer if he did?

Juliette was even more lost when she realized one morning that she did not feel guilty anymore. Antoine would not have wanted her to mourn him forever, after all...

* * *

"I was beginning to worry, Madame. I feared you had gotten lost in the blizzard." Juliette looked up from her feet and smiled as Eric stepped down from the church's porch to offer her his arm. "Happy New Year."

She smiled brightly. "Happy New Year, my dear friend." They moved inside, where they found half of the city already gathered for the traditional New Year's mass. Damien, who had been absent these past few weeks to visit his own relatives, soon waved at both, and Juliette moved to sit by him.

She soon realized her mistake when Eric outstretched a hand towards her associate. "Eric Delors, nice to finally meet you."

She looked at Damien who stood, an undescribable look on his face as he shook the offered hand. "Damien Francier, pleasure to make your acquaintance," he answered in his so peculiar voice.

Juliette noticed the spark of interest in Eric's eyes, but she let it be. Damien's voice sounded as if he, too, had seen the world. She would be less amused when her friend discovered the boring story behind Damien's raspiness.

Both men encompassing her on the bench, Juliette turned to the priest, and signed herself. She then wondered if the constant buzzing she heard was not some kind of whispered gossips, and she gritted her teeth. The town's harpies were at work again...

* * *

 _1633\. 16th April_

* * *

Juliette had walked a long way to meet with the mysterious Monsieur who wished to by her silks. She had found it peculiar, at first, to meet a potential client outside of her shop, but decided to pay it no mind since it would likely fund her and her employees for at least three months.

The gentleman had appeared to be a man from the capital, working for someone of some importance whom he refused to give the name of. She didn't mind.

Knowing that her trade was once again flowing as far as Paris gave Juliette mixed feelings. She was glad, ecstatic really, to know that her silks were fine enough to have attracted the parisian eyes; but she was also worried that History would repeat itself.

After all, to deliver the silks demanded by the gentleman, she'd have to send Damien. And if he was no husband to her, he had grown to be so dear to her she considered him to be a brother. The danger of it all make her blood cold, and she shivered unvoluntarily.

Juliette had almost reached her street when she realized that, once again, the streetlamps had been neglected. Sometimes, in Bayeux, it was not curious to find a street completely dark at night, the usual torches having not been lit by the city's employees.

She adjusted her shawl upon her shoulders and hurried her pace. She was not comfortable walking here so late in the evening. The street life had died out hours ago, and the few people still outside at that hour were men looking for a drink in one of the many taverns that adorned Bayeux.

* * *

"Oooh, but would you look at this, pals!"

Juliette gritted her teeth as she first heard the drawl behind her. It was crass, no doubt someone not from the region, as Normandy had always been and would remain, she was certain, a place of easy trade brought by sea and canals.

"Hey Missy, don't ignore us, show us yer face!" continued the stranger. Juliette carried on walking, unphased. Or at least, outwardly unphased. Inside, she was petrified.

"She's shy, Mag, look at her, she surely is no whore that one! Too pretty, too clean!" added another one.

"Too bad... Or maybe she'll be tastier that way," responded the named 'Mag', and Juliette tried to hurry her pace some more, noticing how she had almost reached the end of the street. Just a little bit further...

She cried out when her hair was suddenly pulled backwards by a harsh hand. The stench of the man gave no doubt as to his inebriated state, and Juliette squeezed her eyes shut, knowing full well what was going to happen, and knowing full well she could not prevent it.

The man sniffed her hair and laughed, the sound crass to her ears. "She smells like royalty this one! Think she'll feel like one too?"

"Guess we have to find out, eh?"

Juliette was roughly pulled by the hair into a dark alcove, no doubt created by the porch of some house. She hoped for a moment that the occupants might come out and chase the ruffians away, but a little voice at the back of her mind told her these things occurred too often in Bayeux for people to still care.

The man who was holding her hair reached to the front of her dress and started groping her everywhere he could reach. She whimpered, tears springing to her eyes. She wanted to fight back, needed to, but she was frozen by fear. Her thoughts went to Antoine, and to the shame he'd have felt to have wed a lost woman.

When the men's hands began to be a little too wandering, when they started bunching her skirts up to reach the forbidden fruit, Juliette woke up from her stupor and started kicking back, shouting as loud as she could, calling for help. The second man planted his hand roughly on her face, not caring if he was in the same time choking her.

Kicking was no help. Alone against two rapists, Juliette was useless. So she slumped back against the second of her assailants, and waited for what was to come. It seemed to please them greatly, but soon, their laughter was to be no more.

There was the sound of a gun being cocked, and the first man, 'Mag', turned to see who had disturbed his evening of debauchery.

"I would like you to unhand the lady. Please." The voice was unmistakeable, and unwavering. _Damien_. Juliette could feel the tears of relief spring to her eyes.

The second man began to release her and her breath, but 'Mag' snickered. "And wha' d'ya think you'll achieve with that stick of yours?"

Damien's head tilted to the side. "This."

The gunshot echoed in the dark street, and 'Mag' shouted out in pain, his hands cradling the hole he now had in his thigh.

Juliette was free, the second ruffian running away as soon as his accomplice had been struck. Damien reached for her gently, and she let herself be encompassed by much friendlier arms...

* * *

"I am sorry, but this might hurt," Damien said about an hour later, a basin of warm water in front of him as he started dabbing at Juliette's neck.

She shook her head, as if the pain had been numbed, but the memory of these men's hands on her was too much to handle. She felt filthy, she felt enraged, she felt...useless. How many women before her had lived through this? Had had to live through the whole experience because Damien had not gone to their rescue? The thought made her sick to her stomach.

"I knew something was off when I looked at the time and you weren't home. Thank God I thought of taking my pistol!"

Juliette's eyes focused again on the present, and she eyed Damien with a new kind of reflexion. "Where did you learn to shoot?"

He shrugged. "My father taught me. To shoot animals, mainly. But it's as effective against bastards such as those." He growled, and Juliette felt a pang of...safety? run through her veins.

Damien was her bodyguard now. She knew she should feel glad to be able to trust someone thus, but all she felt was more uselessness.

So she stared at her apprentice and friend, until he had no other choice than to enquire on her intensity of eyes. She stared some more, then asked "Will you teach me? How to shoot?"

Damien stopped dabbing at her marks, and stared back. She could see the thoughts buzzing through his hazel eyes, and feared she'd be scolded like a child. But instead, he nodded with a small smirk. "It'll be my pleasure."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Strength (part 2)**_

* * *

 _1633\. 25th April_

* * *

"Not bad. But you are still taking too long to aim."

Juliette sighed and lifted the pistol again, her tongue showing in-between her lips. She tried to take less time to aim properly at the bottle which was her target, and shot. Missing it by a foot.

She groaned. "I am rubbish at this!"

Damien chuckled, and took the weapon away from her to reload. "No you are not. Far from it. I was far worse when I started learning."

"That's because you probably had a weapon that weighed more than you did," she joked.

He laughed back. "True. Come now, once more. I want you to inhale, aim, and exhale as you shoot."

Juliette did as she was told, and grazed the bottle. It wobbled on its perch atop a fence, but did not fall. She sighed again, but at least it was better than before.

* * *

Damien had done good on his word. Earlier that morning, he had guided Juliette through the city and towards the countryside beyond, showing her to a nice piece of field that was remote enough to make sure they'd not be spied on.

Juliette still woke up at night, the ghost of hands on her body, and she was screaming in her sleep more often than not. Some put it on the account of a strange illness, as she had not publicly told of her shame.

She still felt as though she should have done something that night. Push her assailants away, kicked harder, regardless of whether or not she was hurting herself in the process.

Damien slept close now. The first two nights, he had placed a mattress next to her bed. Then further away in the room. And now, he was sleeping in the study just next door. This arrangement was no issue to him, and Juliette trusted him so completely she didn't even consider the gossipy implications this could have in the future.

As for Eric, he had left Bayeux for a few days, wishing to visit a famous painter further North, in the Principality of Liège. Juliette had hesitated to send him a letter to explain her predicament, but had thought against it. Damien was a far good enough teacher.

* * *

"Come now, we have worked hard enough and the sun is begging us to retreat for dinner." Damien reached for the pistol in Juliette's hand, and she stared at the neckless bottle she had managed to touch only once in the whole afternoon.

She'd get better.

She linked her arm with her apprentice's, and said with a confidence she wasn't sure she possessed quite yet, "I think I'll try to do some good when I'm shooting well enough."

Damien huffed. "And do what? Roam the streets at night, looking for rapists and thieves?"

"Precisely," she answered with her chin slightly tipped up.

He stopped, forcing her to do the same. "This could be very dangerous, Juliette. Much more dangerous that what I thought you'd do with the skills I am teaching you!" He started walking again, his hold on her slightly tighter. "I don't want you to talk of these things ever again."

Juliette wanted to talk back, but thought against it. She nodded like the good little soldier she was becoming to be. "I promise I won't."

Talk about it at least...

* * *

 _1633\. 12th June_

* * *

The sun was scorching Juliette's delicate skin as she was practising her aim in her and Damien's usual spot. Her teacher was not there, for once, having gone back to the village to fetch some refreshment to counter the summer's heat.

Juliette recharged her lent pistol and aimed, fired: the bottle shattered to pieces. She repeated the movement a second time: a second bottle shattered.

She had gotten quite good at shooting, and in not so long after all. Her desire to do good once she had all the skills necessary had acted as somehow of a catalyst. Not that she would tell Damien. After his first outburst concerning her vigilante's wishes, he had refused to talk more about the matter.

Juliette could understand his point, for they had grown very close since they had met. Damien was like a younger brother, one who sought to protect her at all costs. And letting her into the night battle thieves and rapists and such was not exactly his definition of safe. She did not want to disappoint her good friend. But she didn't want to leave poor defenseless women either...

* * *

"And what do we have here? A woman who shoots?!"

Juliette whirled around, preparing to have to hide her disheveled appearance, for she had shed the top of her dress and was now showing an ample part of her chest under her cream-coloured corset. But she did not have to, and a smile formed on her lips when she recognized the figure of one long-lost friend, even if he had more facial hair than when he had left.

"Eric!"

The blonde man hurried to her side and pulled her into a gentle hug. He did not discuss her attire, nor did he actually oggle her like any other man would. He just smiled widely, and pointed at the pistol she was holding. "And what is this, Madame Durieux? I did not take you for the murdering type!" He laughed, and his good-humoured joke made her chuckle as well.

"Damien is teaching me how to defend myself. And I think I'm not that bad."

"Not bad at all, I'd say!" came Damien's voice from further down the hill. She and Eric watched as he climbed their way, a loaf of bread and a jug of water in his hands. He was beaming too, no doubt proud of his pupil, and turned to the newcomer. "I was not aware you had come back, Eric."

"I was just returned," the blonde answered. "I saw Juliette on my way down and climbed back up to see what she was up to."

Juliette felt happy in that moment. Her two good friends were there with her, and she was getting quite good at her deed. There was nothing missing. Almost nothing...

* * *

"You have the aim of a she-devil!" Eric was laughing after a display of Juliette's skill. She was smiling back, proud of herself, before he turned to her teacher and asked, "what about the sword?"

"Sword?" she echoed.

Eric nodded. "I understand that you were attacked in close quarters. Shooting someone when they are so close to you may not be very convenient. I'd say you also need to know how to defend yourself with a blade."

"Don't encourage her," Damien sighed, "she already thinks she can play the vigilante. I'd rather not give her too much power over that..."

Eric chuckled, but not in a way that felt mocking of Juliette's ambitions. He looked over at her, a grin on his lips. "Let's not talk about masks and good deeds for now. But Juliette still needs to know how to wield a dagger and sword." He stood from his perch on the fence of the field, and unsheathed his own weapon, a thin, delicate blade that looked fit for a musketeer.

He then showed off some moves that looked more like a dance than a real fight choreography. Juliette was watching, wide-eyed, and more than ever aware of the power of attraction of this man. If he had ever showed these skills to other young women, they surely had fallen into his bed right after.

"Where on Earth did you learn this?!" she half-shrieked after he sheathed back his sword.

Eric let out a small laugh. "Florence teaches you many things, I can assure you. I had this sword made there before I came back."

"Will you teach me?" she pleaded, aware of how childish she sounded. When he nodded once, she hurried to plant a sound kiss on his cheek. "Thank you."

Beside them, Damien was shaking his head in mock disapproval. He, too, had a smile of admiration on his lips.

* * *

 _1634\. 7th May_

* * *

Juliette was flying around, parrying every blow and throwing in some attacks as well, until she managed to break Eric's defense and slash across the leather armour he was wearing on his arm.

Her teacher flew away from her and beamed. "Well done! It's the second time today!"

Juliette wiped a path of sweat on her forehead and sighed. "And it only took me so long..."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. You are very talented. Let it never be said that women can't be good swordsmen!" He laughed and moved to remove his armour. Juliette did the same.

Eric had taken to teach her the ways of the sword in barns. Empty barns, or hay-filled barns. So long as they were void of any visitors. He had also been adamant that she wear breeches during their lessons, and he had offered her a pair of leather-made ones that fit to her like a second skin and were very comfortable to fight in.

"Have you thought about this vigilante idea of yours any more?" he then asked while removing the thick leather from his chest. There was no judgment in his voice, and Juliette spoke forward without fear.

"I have. I think I still want to do it. But I'd have to be masked. And my hair hidden...it's too recognizable like this," she gestured with a huff to her fiery mane.

Eric paused and eyed her up and down critically before nodding. "Yes, you definitely are showing too many womanly features." She blushed, but he carried on, very professional in his way of eyeing her. "You'd have to bandage your chest, your breasts are ample enough to show under a jerkin... And maybe dye your hair. I have some ideas about that." He paused again. "Don't tell Damien, though. He'd kill me if he knew I was putting you in danger."

Juliette nodded. "I promise. And I thank you for being willing to help me in this endeavour." Her smile was bright, and he mirrored it instantly.

"Well, people already think I am going to propose any moment now, so let's not disappoint them by being unfriendly, shall we?"

* * *

His words gave Juliette some pondering to do. She knew, of course, that most people in Bayeux thought Eric to be her suitor. She had never denied those claims, even as their relationship evolved more towards a passionate friendship than a passionate love. Maybe somewhere in her heart she wished he'd propose. That she'd be free from talks about her celibacy and could easily spend the rest of her life married to a good friend, even if they'd have to...well, produce heirs, most probably. Eric would be freedom, and Juliette longed for it.

But somehow, his words told her that he did not wish for the same outcome...

* * *

 _1634\. 25th July_

* * *

The air was thick with heat; a thunderstorm would do some good to the summer air, no doubt. Juliette advanced through the streets, making sure she hid in darkened corners, to be unseen by the drunks and wanderers of the night.

Adrenaline pumped through her veins as her hand rested lightly on the hilt of the sword Eric had delivered to her not a week prior. Made in Florence, just like his. He called it a 'graduate' present. She had broken it through, so to speak, and now, was the big night.

She had bind her chest as recommended, flattening her chest as best she could, before dressing in her training breeches, a black shirt that had belonged to Damien once, and a purple jerkin. Her hair had been coloured with ink from a kind of fish, and Eric had sworn that it would go with a good wash in the morning; and she hid her feminine facial features under a large-brimmed hat and a leather mask over her eyes.

Juliette walked through the streets of Bayeux, making sure she did not spot any crime nearby, but the evening was quiet. Quiet and boring. No robbery on sight; no drunk trying to force himself on a poor girl.

She had to admit that the fire running through her veins at the thought of her first good deed had died out a bit, replaced by disappointment and a certain apprehension. What if some crime was happening on the other side of the city, and that she hadn't been there to stop it? The thought killed her.

But the sky was getting a slightly paler blueish tint, and she had to accept that her first night as the Nightswatchman had not been a success.

* * *

Defeated, she made her way back home, longing for a bath, to wash the ink off her hair, and to sleep. Damien would not question her tiredness, and besides, they had recently hired a new help for the shop, and she trusted him to steer the ship to perfection.

The candles were still lit when she entered the small halfway, and she wondered if Damien had noticed her absence or if he had not slept at home. She advanced slowly into the house, noticing some sort of whispering that came from the sitting-room.

Taking off her hat, Juliette peaked inside, through the door that had been left slightly ajar by whomever was inside. Her eyes widened, and she muted a gasp.

Damien was there, and he was not alone. From where he was sitting in front of the fire, another person was kneeling in front of him and this person was close, so close to his body that their doings could not be mistaken. They were kissing.

Juliette would not have been shocked, however, if it hadn't been for the lover's identity. She would not have guessed it in a million years, but now it stared her in the face.

Damien's lover was Eric.

* * *

 _1634\. 26th July_

* * *

Juliette did not sleep that morning, nor did she the following night. She did not eat either, and refused to see Damien or anyone until her thoughts were cleared.

Damien and Eric were lovers.

She knew what her Catholic upbringing would expect her to do now: denounce them to the Church and to the City Guard. And they'd be tried for sodomy and unnatural feelings. And they'd be killed. In horrible circumstances.

Did she want that for her two closest friends? Certainly not. Did she agree with their ways? She did not either. But did she disagree with love finding its way in the most unlikely of places? No, she did not either.

In fact, for two long days and nights, Juliette wondered if she was not upset more because her future with Eric was therefore jeopardized rather than because she was disgusted by their dalliance. She had put much hopes in the fact that Eric could make her his wife and she'd be happy with him, she would.

But now, would he ask her to marry him when his heart and lust brought him more to people his own sex? She doubted he ever would.

The sun was setting on the city when Juliette decided: she would not give her dear friends away. And that was flat. But she needed some time away from the house. So she got up and prepared her attire for the night.

This time, she expected trouble in Bayeux. She needed release from her thoughts.

* * *

Bayeux was again too quiet to Juliette's taste, and it did not give her leave from her 'predicament'. If anything, it made her think about it far too much still.

When the cry of alarm of a woman near the river alerted her, Juliette sighed in relief, and unsheathed her sword. Her knuckles were white so hard she was gripping the hilt, and her jaw was set painfully, but she was bent on saving the woman no matter what.

She soon noticed a pattern close to what she had herself lived all that time prior, and it made her heart twitch as she remembered the hands of those men upon her: two men, one holding the young lass while the other groped her in the cover of a alcove.

She hissed and made herself known was a swish of her sword.

One man turned to her, the other still holding the woman. She could see her torn dress and the tracks of tears on her cheeks, and it made her blood boil.

"Release her!" she hissed, making sure her voice sounded lower than her usual one.

The man laughed. "And why's that? Don't you want a taste yourself?" he drawled before turning back to his prey, tearing the dress a bit more. Juliette caught sight of a naked thigh, and she saw red.

The blade entered the man's back as if it had been butter, and caught in one of his ribs. Juliette thought she had punctured the lung, but did not care. She stabbed once more, and turned to the second man, who had immediately released the girl and ran away without a second thought.

Juliette moved to the girl in an attempt to comfort her, but she cowered away in fear, whimpering as she tried to put as much distance as she could between them. Juliette was shocked, and turned to the first man, who had become silent.

She froze. The man was fallen in a stupid position on the pavement, a large puddle of blood growing even more under him. No breath was rising in his chest, and she suspected that his open eyes were not seeing anything anymore.

In her back, the girl ran away, alarming the Guard. Juliette stood there, shocked, staring at the man she had just killed, and then looked at her bloodied blade.

She doubled over, and vomited. She cried, too, but the tears were hidden by the mask. And then she ran.

* * *

When she reached her house, Juliette did not care that Eric's horse was haltered in the front, or that Damien was not alone. She hurried up the stairs and bolted into the sitting-room, not caring if the two men were holding hands.

She buried her head in Damien's chest and cried. Cried and cried and cried until the words spilled out of her mouth and she could not stop them.

"I killed a man..."

Damien shushed her and comforted her the best he could. And Eric joined in the hug, making their company of three even more peculiar than it already was...

* * *

 _1365\. 3rd November_

* * *

After spilling her first blood, Juliette stayed clear of the streets for a while. She could not bear the thought for killing anyone anymore, even if they were criminals and deserving of their punishment.

She also told Damien and Eric she knew about their relationship, and before they could deny or try to protect themselves, she swore not to give them away. And both carried on comforting her every day and every night.

Bayeux was more than ever in talk of her and Eric's betrothal, since he was spending so many of his days and nights at her place. Little did they know that he and Damien were planning to leave the city, and country, to live their love freely, or as freely as religion and society allowed.

"Have you got everything?" Juliette asked as Damien packed the last of this belongings.

She was watching him like a mother watching her only child leave her, with a clenched heart and tears welling in her eyes.

Her friend nodded, tears streaking his cheeks as well as he came to hug her. "Promise me you'll be prudent. And happy."

"And promise me you'll write."

"Always," he whispered while peppering the top of her head with kisses.

Juliette took strength in his arms, and hugged him until she could hold onto him no more, and Eric came to fetch his loved one.

His message was almost the same as Damien's, except he added a small "Keep on doing good" before handing her a small case she'd later discover hid a brand new pistol.

Juliette then went to wave her friends goodbye, under the quizzical and mocking gazes of her neighbours and clients, and they were gone.

With them went Bayeux' respect for Juliette, for Madame Durieux had seen her suitor run off with a man and leave her alone in a hostile world.

A few months later, she'd decide to sell the shop and move to Paris...

* * *

 _1645\. Some time during springtime._

* * *

"And what happened to Uncle Eric and Uncle Damien after that, Mama?"

Juliette looked to her daughter's big blue eyes, and laughed. "They lived wonderful adventures and loved each other very very much."

A hand came to her shoulder, and she did not have to look to know it was her husband's. She gripped it tight, and turned to their guests. Rémi was sitting in his father's lap, and looked up at him too. "Can I have a sword, Da?"

d'Artagnan sighed. "See, Juliette? Now you corrupt our young as well as us!"

She laughed. "I don't need to do anything to make little Rémi eager to fight. He has enough Gascon blood in his veins for that!"

The young Musketeer smile, then nodded once. "Thank you for sharing this story with us."

Athos's hand was firmer in hers, and she met his blue eyes with hers, smiling. "Well, I did promise, didn't I?"

Clémence then let out a squeal of pleasure when her favourite Uncle passed the door, and all in presence laughed as she ran into the arms of a very stunned Porthos who took her seven-year-old weight with dignity but difficulty...


End file.
